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dancers。 Bang！ Bump！ Tong！ Petticoats； Stockings； Sabots； Delirium
flapping its thigh…bones； Red； blue； yellow； Drunkenness steaming in
colours； Red； yellow； blue； Colours and flesh weaving together； In and out；
with the dance； Coarse stuffs and hot flesh weaving together。 Pigs' cries
white and tenuous； White and painful； White and Bump！ Tong！
Second Movement
Pale violin music whiffs across the moon； A pale smoke of violin
music blows over the moon； Cherry petals fall and flutter； And the white
Pierrot； Wreathed in the smoke of the violins； Splashed with cherry petals
falling； falling； Claws a grave for himself in the fresh earth With his
finger…nails。
Third Movement
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An organ growls in the heavy roof…groins of a church； It wheezes and
coughs。 The nave is blue with incense； Writhing； twisting； Snaking over
the heads of the chanting priests。 ‘Requiem aeternam dona ei；
Domine'； The priests whine their bastard Latin And the censers swing and
click。 The priests walk endlessly Round and round； Droning their Latin
Off the key。 The organ crashes out in a flaring chord； And the priests hitch
their chant up half a tone。 ‘Dies illa； dies irae； Calamitatis et
miseriae； Dies magna et amara valde。' A wind rattles the leaded
windows。 The little pear…shaped candle flames leap and flutter； ‘Dies
illa； dies irae；' The swaying smoke drifts over the altar； ‘Calamitatis et
miseriae；' The shuffling priests sprinkle holy water； ‘Dies magna et
amara valde；' And there is a stark stillness in the midst of them Stretched
upon a bier。 His ears are stone to the organ； His eyes are flint to the
candles； His body is ice to the water。 Chant； priests； Whine； shuffle；
genuflect； He will always be as rigid as he is now Until he crumbles away
in a dust heap。 ‘Lacrymosa dies illa； Qua resurget ex favilla
Judicandus homo reus。' Above the grey pillars the roof is in darkness。
Towns in Colour
I
Red Slippers
Red slippers in a shop…window； and outside in the street； flaws of
grey； windy sleet！
Behind the polished glass； the slippers hang in long threads of red；
festooning from the ceiling like stalactites of blood； flooding the eyes of
passers…by with dripping colour； jamming their crimson reflections against
the windows of cabs and tram…cars； screaming their claret and salmon into
the teeth of the sleet； plopping their little round maroon lights upon the
tops of umbrellas。
The row of white； sparkling shop fronts is gashed and bleeding； it
bleeds red slippers。 They spout under the electric light； fluid and
fluctuating； a hot rain and freeze again to red slippers； myriadly
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Men； Women and Ghosts
multiplied in the mirror side of the window。
They balance upon arched insteps like springing bridges of crimson
lacquer； they swing up over curved heels like whirling tanagers sucked in
a wind…pocket； they flatten out； heelless； like July ponds； flared and
burnished by red rockets。
Snap； snap； they are cracker…sparks of scarlet in the white； monotonous
block of shops。
They plunge the clangour of billions of vermilion trumpets into the
crowd outside； and echo in faint rose over the pavement。
People hurry by； for these are only shoes； and in a window； farther
down； is a big lotus bud of cardboard whose petals open every few
minutes and reveal a wax doll； with staring bead eyes and flaxen hair；
lolling awkwardly in its flower chair。
One has often seen shoes； but whoever saw a cardboard lotus bud
before？
The flaws of grey； windy sleet beat on the shop…window where there
are only red slippers。
II
Thompson's Lunch Room Grand Central Station
…。Study in Whites
Wax…white Floor； ceiling； walls。 Ivory shadows Over the pavement
Polished to cream surfaces By constant sweeping。 The big room is
coloured like the petals Of a great magnolia； And has a patina Of flower
bloom Which makes it shine dimly Under the electric lamps。 Chairs are
ranged in rows Like sepia seeds Waiting fulfilment。 The chalk…white spot
of a cook's cap Moves unglossily against the vaguely bright wall Dull
chalk…white striking the retina like a blow Through the wavering
uncertainty of steam。 Vitreous…white of glasses with green reflections； Ice…
green carboys； shifting greener； bluer with the jar of moving water。
Jagged green…white bowls of pressed glass Rearing snow…peaks of chipped
sugar Above the lighthouse…shaped castors Of grey pepper and grey…white
salt。 Grey…white placards： 〃Oyster Stew； Cornbeef Hash； Frankfurters〃：
Marble slabs veined with words in meandering lines。 Dropping on the
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Men； Women and Ghosts
white counter like horn notes Through a web of violins； The flat yellow
lights of oranges； The cube…red splashes of apples； In high plated
‘epergnes'。 The electric clock jerks every half…minute： 〃Coming！ Past！〃
〃Three beef…steaks and a chicken…pie；〃 Bawled through a slide while the
clock jerks heavily。 A man carries a china mug of coffee to a distant chair。
Two rice puddings and a salmon salad Are pushed over the counter； The
unfulfilled chairs open to receive them。 A spoon falls upon the floor with
the impact of metal striking stone； And the sound throws across the room
Sharp； invisible zigzags Of silver。
III
An Opera House
Within the gold square of the proscenium arch； A curtain of orange
velvet hangs in stiff folds； Its tassels jarring slightly when someone
cross